Stashed
by Rhodonite
Summary: After the heist went to hell, Mr. Pink knew someone needed to hide the diamonds. Unfortunately for him, there's only one person in town who can help, and he ran out on her three years ago. Rated for language and sexual themes.
As he abandoned the getaway car, Mr. Pink was more acutely aware of his own heartbeat than he'd been in quite some time. It threatened to overtake his consciousness entirely; the edges of the world had gone a little green after he threw himself against the window, but the threat of gunfire kept him awake. There was no time to lose it. Other people lost it, but not him. Briefcase clutched to his chest, he timed his breathing to thoughts of _I'm cool, I'm cool, I'm cool_.

This job was an undeniable shit show. Someone called the cops; that much was obvious. He shuddered, remembering how Mr. Blonde went batshit after the alarm went off. The details were kind of hazy right now (adrenaline had a way of fucking with his head), but they'd come back later. Meanwhile, the rest of the men were probably headed to the warehouse, if they weren't all dead, but Pink had found a pay phone and set up a little detour. And that detour was precisely where he was heading now.

Pink exhaled. This was definitely not great, but it was his mess now. Yeah, he'd managed to escape with the diamonds, but how long before the cops showed up at the warehouse? He figured it was best not to take chances; unfortunately, that meant looking up an old colleague. Cautiously, he rounded the corner into the alleyway and leaned against the brick, glad to catch his breath. _I'm cool, it's cool, fuck's sake, be cool_. Hopefully, it'd been long enough that she could spare him a little mercy; he'd found her number just in case, and unfortunately, this case was not a happy one.

His head snapped up as a '78 Civic pulled into the alley. Pink couldn't help but grin a little. _Shit car_. Of course, she was probably keeping a low profile, but it was gratifying in the moment. He slid into the passenger seat and let the door slam behind him.

Winnie didn't bother glancing over. "Took you long enough."

"Don't give me that shit. You were late," he said.

"Please. Like I'm gonna stay in the alley for an hour while you get your shit together. I'm not stupid. I've got better things to do than jail time."

Pink crossed his legs, trying to make his right one stop bouncing. "Well, that makes two of us." Winnie finally looked his way; he caught himself before he could respond. _Jesus_. In the three years since he'd seen her last, she hadn't changed a bit; from the immediate feeling of blood rushing to his ears, it was clear that he hadn't either.

"You look like shit," she said at last.

"Oh, hey, thanks. I got hit by a car, no big deal. Good to see you, too."

Winnie smirked. "You still talk too much."

They were silent. He looked at her; she was wearing a green dress that brought out the red in her hair. _We don't have a Mr. Green_. Pink shook his head. This was too much like old times.

"Pull any jobs lately?" he said, force-stopping the quiet.

"Nothing as interesting as yours, I'm sure."

"Don't patronize me." Now he was sure his face was flushed. _Great_. Winnie, more than anyone else, knew how to air out his vulnerabilities and make them very clear. "This is a fucking mess."

"It's not your fault," she said.

"How the fuck would you know?"

"Because you're a professional. C'mon. You're cleaning up after their shit when you don't even know what the hell is going on."

He stared out into the street. "I didn't wanna ask you to do this."

"But you did." Winnie brushed her hand over his, sending a chill down his neck. "I missed your face. I don't know if I'd be here otherwise."

"...What do you want me to do with that?"

"Offer me part of your cut," she said, nodding towards the briefcase.

"You'd probably get more now," said Pink, trying to release the tension in his legs. "I dunno who's dead."

"I doubt you'd be that generous."

Once again, she was right. She was too good at that. They shared another silence. "So what's next for you?" he asked.

Winnie shrugged. "Thinking of heading back east."

"That...doesn't bode well."

"Plenty of rich kids out east."

"Winnie, what the hell? I thought you were doing fine!"

"And I was, until they got Soza in San Antonio for cocaine two months ago."

He winced. "They got Soza?"

"Fucker squealed for a deal," she grumbled. The dangerous glint in her eyes from years ago was back, and he gulped. _Fuck_. How could he still be into _that_?

"He didn't say anything about me, did he?"

Winnie glowered at him. He hadn't been this turned on in ages; Pink crossed his legs again. "A lot changes in three years. You're otherwise involved. What did you expect?"

"I just wanna cover myself," he said gently, cowed to be back in a car with his old boss.

She scoffed. "You didn't even use an alias."

"Well, I never go without one now."

"Oh, yeah? What's the newest one?"

He looked away, embarrassed. "They call me Mr. Pink."

"Huh."

"I didn't choose it," he quickly added. "It's not that secure, to be honest. I mean, they've got my face, and I'm pretty sure they know I used to work in kidnapping."

"You're babbling. This is Joe Cabot, right?"

"Right."

"Jesus. How the mighty have fallen." Winnie threw her head back and laughed. "Like I'm one to talk."

"You been in any trouble? I'm surprised I could even reach you."

"I barely leave my apartment," she said, crossing her arms on the steering wheel and leaning forward. "I feel like I'm living with a time bomb. That's why I've gotta get out of here."

"Pink bit his lip. "Maybe I oughta do the same."

"I didn't invite you."

"Doesn't matter. You take Boston, I'll take Brooklyn. Piece of cake."

" _You_ take Boston," she said, shoving his shoulder. They laughed; for a moment, Mr. Pink forgot about anything related to diamond heists, gun-toting madmen, aliases or rats...there was something to be said about forgetting his own heartbeat for a little while.

"Alright, Mirowski," Winnie said, leaning on his shoulder. He bristled at the sound of his old surname. "I'll let you tag along. Let bygones be bygones. If we start driving now, we can get to Mexico and fly outta there."

"Whoa, Winnie, you serious? I kind of have…" Pink gestured to the briefcase. "It'd be real shady of me to bolt."

"You said yourself the one guy's a fucking psycho and the others might be dead." She kissed him below his ear. "They don't know shit about you."

Pink grabbed at the fabric of his jeans, aching for some semblance of self control. "Yeah, but Joe introduced me to you, remember?"

"So?"

"So he knows me as Stuart Mirowski."

"Then don't use your real name this time, dipshit." Without hesitation, Winnie clambered onto his lap and straddled him. "Just 'cause I know doesn't mean anyone else has to. Not anymore."

He moaned into the kiss, flashing back to the last time they'd been together like this. He'd left the very next day, in the hope of finding a different craft and women who didn't addle his mind like absinthe. And here he was, feeling her grinding against him, tasting her on his lips again, considering leaving everything behind just to run off with Winnie Galen once again- fuck, she could take the diamonds, for all he cared. It wasn't right, even if the other fellas weren't doing things quite right themselves. It wasn't logical- that was for sure.

And it really wasn't professional.

"I've got to go," he said, pulling away.

"Wow. Nice time to grow a conscience," Winnie said, her voice slightly husky.

"Just for now. Jesus." He kissed her again, before reaching down to get the briefcase; she lowered herself back into the driver's seat. "The longer I stay away, the longer they suspect I'm the piece of shit who sold 'em out."

"Just play dead. You died, there are no diamonds, end of story."

"I'm trying to be better, Winnie," Pink said, placing the briefcase in her lap. "It might be nice to come back here one day. C'mon."

She refused to meet his eyes, but a hint of a smile lingered on her features. "You're unbelievable."

"I'll come to your apartment later today, and we can get the fuck outta here." He kissed her cheek, swinging the car door open on his side.

"You're making a mistake," Winnie said, taking his hand and squeezing it, "and you know it. None of these guys are gonna care that you're going the extra mile." She held his gaze as he left the car, shutting the door softer than the first time.

"Don't worry," he said. "I'm gonna make it happen. I'll do right by them and by you."

Mr. Pink left, hands empty, keys to the getaway car in his pocket. The pit of his stomach told him that this was stupid. Who were they? Who was he to them? Winnie had come through, even after he'd left without a word. His heartbeat was back and louder than ever. Every step he took back towards the getaway car felt more and more like a death march.

He'd evaluate the situation. He wouldn't get caught up, and then they could head east. That would be all, and that would be fantastic. He just had to do the professional thing first.

* * *

 **Thank you for reading! I'm debating whether I should continue exploring these characters; if you feel strongly either way, please let me know in the comments.**


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